


The Cost of Kindness

by UpsetFawn



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Gen, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, No Proofreading We Die Like Men, blood and gore tags are there to be better safe than sorry, only some comfort though just enough to show Osian's gonna be okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24867451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UpsetFawn/pseuds/UpsetFawn
Summary: Osian, Caretaker of the Royal Brood, has been found guilty of assisting foreigners and conspiracy against the Queen.The punishment is death.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	The Cost of Kindness

The flax ropes groaned and stretched under the limited movement captive wrists found. The guards alongside their captor marched towards the throne room, eyes blind to Osian, as his heart threatened to burst out of his thorax. Behind him, he could hear quieted whispers of disbelief, shock, disgust, shame. For one of the highest bees of the colony to go and commune with complete strangers seemed like a fever dream. A banded bee of his stature should have known better, alerted the guards of the trespassers and let them take care of the strange bugs. Especially after everything he had done to achieve the position he held, or had held, since he knew that as soon as he entered the throne room, he would not be leaving alive. Becoming a caretaker of the royal brood was the most prestigious role any bee could obtain while living in the colony, as they would have to dedicate their entire lives to raising and protecting the future queens and ensuring those who moved away would have the best chance of starting her own colony. That is, if they lived through their infancy. Osian had lost count how many young royals had passed away in his arms, how many sleepless nights he had fretting about if they would survive through the night. The tears that he had wept, from both grief and joy, had become fearful the night before, before this deadly march.

The blue banded bee had found them, a massive atlas moth and a frail orchid mantis, not far from the waste deposit of the colony. The former, his wings glued together as the latter desperately tried to get them to separate to allow them to dry. It wasn't his place to give them heed, or notice them, nor was it his job to react to the mantis' cries of help towards Osian. But the bee knew that if the atlas moth did not receive immediate help, his wings would be forever molded together, and he would not be able to fly, or find a mate. Yet he had flown over anyways, helping the freshly molted moth separate the sticky wings, the mantis and he leading the stranger up high so he could hang upside down, letting the drying process finish. Osian left for a moment, returning with honey to get his strength up and talking with the frail one to get the full story. The three of them sat (or hung) and chatted, he himself blissful in talking to others that were not from the hive, indulging in their stories of the outside world. A frozen shore that was forever trapped in winter, golden bells singing in haunted harmony, high treetops shielding a venomous bog below, and a whole kingdom plagued with toxic dreams. The bee hadn't realized he had made it a habit to visit these two almost daily, bringing small by-products of the hive to share with them. _Bees don't just make honey!_ He remembered boasting proudly, the moth laughing as the mantis tried to separate his claws from the tacky wax, ready to be morphed into a candle. Had he been more observant, more cautious, he would have seen the drone spying on him every time he did so. But Osian never had the need for caution, for observance, which he regretfully wished his position wasn't so laid back, for one day full of story telling and gossip, the drone and guards descended upon him, wrestling him down and dragging him back inside. He had seen a brief glimpse of the atlas moth and the orchid mantis charging across the way, but he had been pulled inside before they could even reach him.

"Osian."

The voice flowed like the rich honey rivers, spiked with venom.

He blinked, not knowing he had spaced out, his mind attempting to distract him from his upcoming demise, thwarted by the Queen who stood in front of him, vexed.

He recognized her, the two of them had met countless times, forbidden times, like how he did so with the moth and the mantis. She did not want to become a royal, not realizing that her fate was sealed the moment she survived her infancy. So she slipped away to be with the common folk, that was how she met Osian. The two spent countless summer mornings bounding through the tunnels, huddled together during the endless winter evenings. He saw her more than a sister than the future queen, and he was certain she had felt the same. But now, with her eyes gouging through him, he knew any high options of him were naught.

Silence gripped the throne room as the old friends stared at each other, trapped in what seemed like eternity. He found no reason to beg, to plead, to ask for his life. This was simply the way of the colony.

"You understand what you have done is wrong." She began, the density of the room intensifying. Some of the guards didn't expect the Queen to go on a tangent, to draw out the execution, while others let the Queen say goodbye to one of her hardest workers, only assuming what kind of heartbreak she must be going through. Her feet carried her down the marble stones, eventually looming over him with her imposing nature. Quietly, she added, "Perhaps, that was my fault."

Osian blinked. Did she blame their youthful days as the reasoning behind his will to help? He opened his mouth to object, but was silenced by a raised, flat palm.

"You also understand," The Queen continued, "That you forfeit your life for endangering the colony?"

His head fell. He didn't want to say it, acknowledge the horrible truth.

Her head leaned towards his, antenna barely touching as she quickly whispered to him, "I'm so, so sorry for what I'm about to do." While the guards couldn't hear her, Osian's heart lurched at the hurt in her voice.

He snapped his head up to watch her move away from him, emotions choking his words out to a single croak. Her turned back, gossamer wings gently floating behind her, would be forever burned in his mind due to his fault. Her left hand rose, poised, and lowering her head, clicked her fingers. The signal.

Osian visibly flinched as the bees around him dug their claws into his carapaced arms, the sudden pain bringing a swarm of emotions, the most prominent one was panic. The once tempo-ed thumping of his heart had jumped to that to a gallant drum, pounding in his head and in his ears. It disoriented him, falling to his knees as the guards held him down, then to his belly. Footsteps, not the sound of them, but the vibration of them caused him to look in the direction of the approach of another, holding a pair of sharp, silver scissors. Were they going to tear his head off with that? Pull him apart limb by limb until he was nothing but a writhing mass on the ground? It sounded agonizing, until he noted that the scissors' blade was short, bent at an angle, thick, with rigged, grappling teeth. The realization came crashing down on him, both the beauty and the sadness of it.

The Queen had changed his fate, saved him. Instead of death, he was to live.

_But at the cost of his wings._

Survival instinct, paralyzed by fear beforehand, kicked in too late. The guards had a firm grip on almost every part of his body, save for his two silken wings. They buzzed loudly, thrashing blinding one of the guards for a moment before those, too, were pinned by others. The one on his right parted the thick fluff that covered the top half of his body, digging down, down, until the wing bud was exposed to the cool air.

"No!!" He felt silver metal press against hardened carapace, the teeth of the blade zig-zagging back and forth as the bee above him adjusted their hold on the bud. "Milady, please! Please!! Anything but this!!" His voice was not the cool, calming, charming voice that usually fell out. It was riddled with fear, anticipated pain. It broke, his eyes fixated at his Queen's back, arms wanting to break free of their restraints to reach out for her, to grasp.

There was a loud _crunch_ , and Osian howled.

Osian had seen this tool used before, as sickening as it looked, it was meant to clip broken or infected wings. It was meant as a tool for bringing ease to others, who suffered from pain or simply could not fly, and were holding on to a dead weight. To have it used in such a repulsive manner, it made Osian's stomach rubber band into a ball. His torso twisted and writhed to the best of its ability, legs struggling to bend at the knee as flesh and tendon pulled up and away from his back, blood rushing to the fresh wound and staining his bright yellow fluff. There was a physical snap and he screeched once again, there was no doubt in his mind that the wing was now fluttering to the ground.

Shock began to set in, any means of fighting back had been obliterated. He wasn't given the joy of rest for a second, as the teeth of the scissors soon found their second target. Osian whimpered, attempting to jerk his body away to preserve what he loved so much about being a bee. But his captors snapped him down, spreading his thick downy fluff once again to let the scissors do their work. He wondered, if he had experienced it once before, it wouldn't hurt as much this time around.

He was wrong.

His voice rang raw with agony, his body jerking sharply harshly the bees above him lost their grip, the scissors too. He felt wet and sticky, more blood pooling to the trauma site as the guards regained their composure and held him down with renewed vigor. One of the bees told the surgeon they had to do it again, his thrashing had only ripped the bud halfway. Osian squirmed with fever, cries, pleas, the blood soaked metal pressing down and in to his open flesh, nerves tingling at the small poking of the instrument's teeth. Bright white stars flashed in his vision as his remaining wing was wrenched free.

* * *

"--And I'm telling you, if we don't do something, they're going to kill him!!"

The body of a pink and white mantis bounded angrily in front of their gargantuan friend, pulling with vigor towards the back entrance of the hive. It had been mere hours since the drones had swarmed Osian, the bee's panicked voice crying out to them for help. Without their needles, both he and his atlas moth friend were defenseless, left back at their campsite. The moth looked down at him, eyes understandably worried.

"What if you are wrong about the rumors?" He queried, "Perhaps our friend can sing his way out of this, and the need for our raid will be all for naught? It will only confirm their fears and suspicions of outsiders."

"Oh my Wyrm-they're _BEES_. In my experiences, bees don't like it when one of their own interacts with those who are _NOT_ from the _COLONY_!!!" The mantis insisted, wings flaring out dramatically behind him. "If you're not going to go in after him then I will!!"

The mantis charged, a poor attempt at rushing blindly into the fray, stopped with an _oomph_ as the atlas moth gently held him back. He squirmed, clambering to ascend this mammoth of a bug when their struggle ceased when something was dropped by their vision. There were no words to be exchanged, they both had not imagined that, it was impossible to ignore. The mantis hopped off and away, slowly creeping forward to get a better look at what had practically nose-dived into the ground, the moth following close behind. There in the rubble heaved Osian's body, teal blood staining his yellow fur a sickly green, but what flew the mantis into a rage was the lack of Osian's wings.

" _That's it_." He growled, turning on his heel. " _Those motherfuckers are all dead_."

Again, the atlas moth stopped the lithe orchid mantis, a hand placing itself on his shoulder. Gentle eyes looked down on his friend, silently asking if revenge was the right path right now. They didn't have time to linger for long, as a whine escaped Osian's barely conscious form.

" _Uuuuuuuugh_ , I hate it when you're right!! And you're _always_ right!!" The mantis pulled away as he redirected his path up and over the garbage and waste, the atlas moth stooping to lift Osian's battered body into his arms. "Head back to the tent and put him in my cot, I should have some sandalwood incense in my bag and get that burning. I'm going to grab the medic, she'll know what to do!!"

Without any time to protest or argue, the orchid mantis was gone in a flash, leaving the atlas moth to lumber his way across the ground, not wanting to fly and risk making his injuries worse. The bee whimpered in his arms, letting the moth know to readjust his hold, so he wasn't pressing on the weeping wounds.

"I'm sorry my friend." The moth said in a hushed tone, "You're safe now, you'll be okay."

It seemed like a false promise, but it was one that he was going to hold onto.

**Author's Note:**

> that moment when you realize a design issue from a character you made a year ago and decide to correct it with angst


End file.
